A Song for the Abandoned
by Ryo Hoshi
Summary: Once upon a time, she was just a particularly weak and pathetic human-a doll for others to play with.  As Road, though, others were to be her dolls.


**_A Song for the Abandoned_  
>By Ryo Hoshi<strong>

_Autour de moi j'entends rire  
>Les poupées de chiffon<br>Celles qui dansent sur mes chansons  
>Poupée de cire poupée de son<br>__Poupée De Cire, Poupée De Son__, France Gall_

She knew only a little about her origins—found, possibly born, in a pile of trash, left to die by a mother who had no interest in her. The person who'd abandoned her had not even bothered removing the afterbirth before dumping her.

Her lot had not really been improved by who had picked her up. The man had no interest in _daughters_, but he was willing to invest a little in the future.

He'd handed her off to the whores whom he pimped, and she had been a sort of pet—or perhaps a living doll—to them. She could tell that it was not anything more, they didn't bother pretending she meant that much to them; they had not even seen any reason to not tell her how she'd fallen into their hands.

All she meant to them was money, and somebody to use to lessen the suffering of their own existence. The nicest of the whores—whom she would later realize wasn't sane—had never shown any sign of thinking she was a living being, instead of a life-sized doll…whom she did, at least, value…as a doll.

The johns thought of her as a toy, there for their pleasure. There had been no reason, then, for there to be terribly much delay in selling her virtue (what there was of it) piecemeal, drugging and binding and otherwise compelling her cooperation.

That part of the slums, nobody cared; at most, they thought that it would be lost anyway, so why not make sure it brings in as much benefit as possible? Even if she wasn't willing, and the most she would see from it would be food and clothes (costumes) to make her appeal more to johns…

The last piece went to a fat old nobleman, before her monthlies started, who had apparently paid extra for a bit of struggle and less wait.

Humans…were horrible, she'd decided after he'd finally tired of the game and left.

She had welcomed the confusion and apparent illness that came after that, really. She had been aware enough to know that had been the only reason more johns had not been forced on her, and at first that in and of itself was sufficient.

Then, well, she had other reasons to welcome it, for it came with wonderful gifts—a name that was hers and not something attached to her by uncaring humans, and the power to punish them for their sins. The memories that said 'This is how humans _always_ have been' were an unnecessary bonus, aside from providing a few ideas for what sorts of games Road could play with those humans who had made her their plaything.

※

When the whorehouse burnt, almost a week after she'd been removed by the Earl, it'd been a nicely busy night. Road had some patience, and enough self-control to delay vengeance for when she could get a nicely _satisfying_ one. It'd not, of course, been just a fire, but in the slums…well, the Earl _had_ said that she ought to make sure nobody saw too much evidence of her games, and who here would care enough to bother noticing the signs, made more subtle by fire, of what she'd put them through?

They didn't even notice that she'd claimed the nicest of the whores as her doll. She took good care of the woman for the rest of her life, because the Earl had said that it was only proper to take good care of your things. Besides, the woman seemed happy with the reversal of their old roles.

※

The one person who'd not been there was the one she wanted most, the aristocrat who'd been her last john. It took a while to find him, with only his appearance and his tastes to go on—Road knew that the name and title he had used had been false, or enough so as to keep locating him for blackmail from being easy.

She'd found his mansion while he was away. She amused herself while she waited for his return, and his reactions had been so amusing, especially when he claimed that his…habits were merely the natural right of superiors over inferiors.

Since they were, it seemed, in agreement about _that_…

Road left, enjoying the lollypop she'd picked up earlier—candy and other things of childhood had been denied her, before, and she deeply wished to have the things of childhood she'd missed out on—and not thinking too much of how he'd not remembered her.

His habits and tastes probably prevented him from remembering any victim for long, and they _had_ been the key to finding him.

The lollypop was nearly gone when she crossed paths with a busker, not much older than she looked to be. He'd smiled at her, his only audience at the moment, and asked her if there was something she'd like him to play for her.

A little time playing with him couldn't hurt, right? She had the time, and it might be fun.

Later, with some candy Neah'd gotten her (with his own money, just to see her smile), she decided he was cute—she'd not missed the shy attempts at flirting, which had amused her (was this part of what had been stolen from her?) and flattered her. If some of the smiles had been real, well…she'd attribute it to simple enjoyment of meeting a human who knew his place without needing to be told.

She didn't flirt back, though, even if she thought it might be fun; she didn't have the time to stay and play those games with a human.

※

When she next saw Neah, not long after that, he was no longer a mere human, but a Noah, like her.

* * *

><p>A good deal of this is based off of things that had been going on in the mid-19th century; most of the references I have found for it were for London specifically, but this may be mostly due to what texts I can obtain in languages I can read. This is…a semi-accurate portrayal, in the sense that I didn't feel like doing extra research beyond what I have already done on the slums of the time.<p>

On the bright side, people? This means that there's nothing slipped into this that would give a more exact date than 'mid-19th century.'

There is, however, a quote (possibly a touch paraphrased) from a contemporary account of prostitution in London…good reading, if you've a taste for Victorian newspaper exposes.


End file.
